


can you keep me close

by luciferTM



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, essentially a natsugumi found family fic doubling as a tenma character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM
Summary: "Is that what you did the first time around?" asks Yuki, eventually. "That bruise on your face. You said it was your father then, too.""Ah, yeah. I didn't do a great job on that one. I'm no makeup artist, okay?"Tenma gets hurt again. This time, it doesn't go over very well.
Relationships: Rurikawa Yuki & Sumeragi Tenma, Rurikawa Yuki/Sumeragi Tenma, Sumeragi Tenma & Summer Troupe
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	can you keep me close

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from “someone to stay” by vancouver sleep clinic.
> 
> this takes place at the very beginning of the sardine quest event, right after the roles have been decided. warning for discussion of child neglect and abuse (emotional + physical) and external & internal conflict over that. be careful if this is a topic that can be difficult for you to read about.
> 
> ty [lynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium) for betaing with such care as always!

"I told him that I decided not to be the lead in our new play and he didn't like that. He understood afterward, though." Tenma shrugs. "As long as I explain, it's all good."

"And how come you got battered up like this before you could?" Yuki asks.

"He didn't like it," repeats Tenma. The courtyard is too calm with just the two of them here, without their usual back-and-forth. He focuses on the familiar smell of Omi's cooking, on the faint chatter from inside the Mankai dorms, drifting in with the late afternoon wind.

"I heard you the first time." Yuki sighs, turning to the dorms. "Let's go. I need to patch you up."

"You don't need to do that. Could you just get some makeup for me?" 

Yuki's head whips sideways to look back at him. "You have got to be kidding."

"We have rehearsal soon. There's no time for dilly-dallying."

Instead of retorting, Yuki just stares intensely at him.

"Is that what you did the first time around?" asks Yuki, eventually. "That bruise on your face. You said it was your father then, too."

"Ah, yeah. I didn't do a great job on that one. I'm no makeup artist, okay? No time for that! I don't want to learn about that stuff, I want to focus on acting."

"And I imagine that you have at least a couple professionals fawning over you before a shoot, so no wonder you never bothered. That's not the point."

"Then what's your point? Get to it, already! We don't have all night."

"Yes, we do," Yuki says. The earnestness transpiring in his voice gives Tenma pause. "No rehearsal for you tonight."

"So you'll have to stay behind to patch me up? Ditching your responsibilities as the lead, are you? Too bad, 'cause I'm still the leader, and I won't let you."

"Shut up for once, you hack! I'm not letting you rehearse in this state. That's final."

Tenma tenses up in turn; Yuki’s irritation is thinly veiled anxiety. Misplaced, dangerous to their craft, and near insulting.

"It's not up to you to decide! Whether you like it or not, _I will act_. If you're trying to help, you're making a poor job of it. I know what I need better than you do. I know what this troupe needs, too, and it's to rehearse with us both, as it always does!"

He glimpses a complicated emotion on Yuki's face before whirling on his heels. 

Sakyo, Azuma, Izumi, and Omi are chatting in the kitchen. It’s something about how precise measurements need to be used for spice in theory, but some people’s preferences deviate from that. They call out to Tenma as he passes in the living room. He exclaims that he’ll talk to them later, thanks, and picks up the pace. His nape is sweating with the force of Yuki's glare. _Seriously, he's so annoying._

He almost slams the door behind him as he strides into their room.

"Tenma."

"Can you just let it go alre--what did you just call me?" 

Yuki quirks a brow. "I said, _you stupid hack,_ listen to me." 

Tenma drops in one of their armchairs with a groan. His irritation seeps away from him along with the remainder of his energy. 

"Whatever. I'll take a short nap before rehearsal."

"Okay, fine. Sleep, but lie down so that your face will be tilted upward and don’t move an inch."

"What are you-- _hey_ \--stop manhandling me!" 

Yuki doesn't let go of Tenma's shoulders, pressing him into the chair, manipulating his head so that the slope of his nape rests against its edge. "Someone has to be the man here, seeing as you're set on behaving like a child."

"You called me an old man just _yesterday_! You're always going to be younger!"

"Then act like it. Don't move." Tenma immediately attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but Yuki pushes him back down just as fast. " _Don't_ , or else I'm skipping rehearsal no matter what you say."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

Tenma huffs. He doesn't get up, but doesn't turn away, either. Yuki is rummaging in the closet now for what Tenma dearly hopes is a foundation matching the shade of his skin. "What's got you so testy, anyway? You didn't seem to care the first time around."

On the other side of the room, Yuki falters, another complex pattern of emotions distorting the ramrod line of his back. Tenma fights a prickle of unease. Seeing Yuki riled up on his account is one thing. This… whatever _this_ is--unnerves him much more.

"I should have said something,” replies Yuki at last, voice strangely subdued. “You were casual about it, and you seemed so happy when your parents showed up for our last show. I didn't think that it was something I needed to worry about. Obviously I was wrong." 

Tenma flings his wrist over his eyes with a sigh. What did he have to say or do for Yuki to drop it? It really wasn't that big a deal at all. He just needs to nap for a bit. To forget. 

"I was glad they could come. So what?" 

"Move your arm."

Tenma lifts it to find Yuki holding a first aid kit. 

"What the--" 

Yuki, now sitting on one of the arms of the chair with the kit secured in his lap, grabs Tenma's wrist and pries it away. He leans over, staring Tenma down. 

"Now, you will lie there, and you will let me patch you up properly. In case you haven't noticed, the side of your face has started bleeding. You not caring about what you look like when we go to rehearsal tonight is irrelevant, because _I_ do." He brandishes his phone with his other hand. "I already warned the rest of the circus and the director that our practice would happen later than usual. They moved around the schedule a bit. It's fine, so."

He waits for a moment, then releases Tenma's wrist. 

With no pressure to keep them closed until the sting recedes, Tenma's eyes start burning again.

"You're such a pain." At least he manages to keep his voice from cracking. “I look ridiculous like this!”

"You always do. Now stop talking and be still. As you said, we don't have all night. Did you get hurt anywhere else?"

Tenma's mind flashes back to the incident. His father punched him in the chest, and he staggered, bent in half, hit the side of his face on the dinner table-- _you foolish boy what have you done to your face what will you do if it scars--_

His left hand clenched into a fist. Thankfully, Yuki doesn’t notice, too busy that he is tucking his legs next to Tenma’s on the chair so he can loom over Tenma more comfortably. Tenma slings his arm behind Yuki to grant him better access, fist clenching tighter.

"My chest… It's just a bruise, though, it'll heal on its own." 

He forces his breathing to slow. Talking helps when he’s able to concentrate on it. But it’s risky, too. He's a coiled spring, tight enough for release to mean fracture.

Yuki lifts Tenma’s shirt without a hint of shame and probes delicately at his chest. Tenma lets out a squeal. 

"Will you stop touching me for a second, you pervert?!" 

"Quiet. You wanted to sleep, so sleep."

"I'm not sleeping with your hands all over me," Tenma protests. His eyes stopped burning, except that now his cheeks are. "They're cold!" 

"No, they're not."

"They are!" 

"Deal with it." Yuki grimaces. "This bruise is so big. I'll put some ointment on it, then you can have your shirt back on."

"Whatever, just do it already!" 

Yuki’s fingers are a lot softer than he thought they would be. Tenma begrudgingly loosens the tension in his body--a show of goodwill, not a sign of comfort. Although the cold of Yuki’s hands is calming, he doesn’t allow himself to lean into the touch.

On second thought, Yuki wouldn’t prick himself with a needle at this point, so it makes sense of the pad of his fingers to be solid instead of hard like Taichi’s (which Tenma noticed because Taichi is a really handsy person). Wait--is that a strange thing to reflect on? Tenma has just grown naturally observant. Small details like these can make or break a character--that’s all there is to it.

Yuki cleans and disinfects his face, then applies cream to his wounds in little touches, precise and resolute. Tenma wills his eyes to stay open so that he can follow his movements, but Yuki gently presses his knuckles over them as if to say _rest like you’re supposed to._

The acrid smell of the gel is familiar. Must be Aloe Vera. Tenma may not know much about make-up, but he has done research about self-care products before and paid particular attention to the ones based on plants. _Healing, cleansing, hydrating_ \--was it? Yuki’s breath, fluttering against the side of Tenma’s face, intensifies its fresh sting. _Good, good,_ his parents had said when he had first developed an interest in botany as a kid. _Nurture your sense of self along with your ambition. Little things you do in your free time can go a long way in building character for the real challenges of life._

Tenma’s eyelids droop. He cannot remember the last time anyone has touched him like this, both meticulous and affectionate.

Misumi has grown into the habit of patting his head, ruffling his hair ever so often. Kazunari throws an arm over Tenma’s shoulder or snakes one around his waist for selfies and leaves it there while they talk, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Muku initiated once or twice at the end of exhausting days, lightly covering Tenma’s hand with his. None of them touch them in the way Yuki is, dabbing at the darkening bruise on Tenma’s chest like he’s calculating which minimal amount of pressure his fingertips need apply for the cream to seep into the skin. That must be what the difference between caring _about_ and caring _for_ someone comes down to.

Tenma’s glad that none of the other members have to handle that sort of stuff. Yuki might rage about Tenma’s chronic untidiness, about his superficial self-care habits, about his lackluster private life, about his inability to hold a conversation with a stranger without his ego as a buffer, and whatever else… Yet that hadn’t discouraged him in any of his attempts to cohabitate. Tenma’s noticed a few things on his end that Yuki doesn’t exactly broadcast either, so they developed an understanding, he supposes. The rest of the troupe is privy to that side of him because unlike Yuki, he isn’t the type who’s able to hide it, but they won't bear witness to it if he can help it. After all, _he’s_ the leader. He’s here to inspire them, keep them in line, push them to new heights; not make them worry.

What was he thinking about--touch? Well, he must have clung to his parents in the past, as little kids do. But he can barely recall any of it. It probably happened a few times before he was told to cut it out, and he was so happy that they were finally home that he did his very, very best to please them.

At what point did he start expecting that they wouldn’t be home instead of waiting? 

(Better yet: at what point did he start thinking of his home as such a desolate place?)

A sudden rush of warmth against his stomach stirs him awake. Yuki pulled his shirt back down.

“I’m done,” announces Yuki, in that quiet, purposeful fashion that is, in his case, synonymous with caution. “I’ll just be sketching patterns over there up until we rehearse.”

“’Kay.”

If Tenma had to _pick_ a place to call home--

He chases the thought despite himself, as if he were skimming a script he had been eagerly awaiting, unable to take his eyes away after the first line.

His home of choice is--

The place where the foundation of hard work is unwavering honesty and care for each other. Where he is greeted every day with a smile instead of empty rooms and a monthly cheque to his name. Where high expectations coincide with deep-seated respect.

More precisely, it would be a nook that smells of earth and laundry detergent. A space where sparks fly, along with the occasional throw pillow, where prickliness relates to no more and no less than domestic annoyance overlapping with fondness. 

Proximity punctuated by faint humming, by the rattle of a sewing machine, by lines muttered under one’s breath, by heated banter. 

Is that shameful of him? Isn't he ungrateful? 

How can he even entertain that notion?

Ever since the day he moved inside the dorms, the truth of it crept up on him. Now that it has condensed into thoughts, it's too late to second-guess it. But so what?

For better or worse, he is _Sumeragi Tenma_. He cannot renounce that without renouncing part of himself. His parents' house is still another home to him; he doesn't get to pick and choose any more than they get to halt his progress.

The weight of his heritage bears down on him like the sun’s rays. His greatest gift--why would he try to escape it, even if he could? He can choose where to expose all of the self he’s growing into with pride, shortcomings included, and where to throw himself into acting heart and soul. It will not let him down in return, even if people do. He stopped doing it for others a long time ago; they can’t take it from him in light of his success, even if they wanted to. 

Everything he is today stems from what they made of him, and for that he is grateful. When the day comes that he casts a tremendous shadow on his own right, he won’t so much as think about shrinking away from his doubts. Even if his roots remain dryland, he will have the endless expanse of the stage, and of a summer sky filled with sparks and laughter. 

Who cares if on days like today he retreats for a moment, to avoid withering into himself? He’s not taking refuge. He’s not _hiding_.

The sun never stops beating down. Instead of shying away from it, he picks and lifts himself up, higher and higher still. 

He’s Sumeragi Tenma! He can reach the summit in every way that counts, no matter how difficult it’ll be getting there. And if some things slip through his grasp like sand in spite of his efforts, maybe he was never meant to have them in the first place.

Tenma raises the hollow of his wrist to his eyes again, exhaling shakily. 

It’s alright: there are people much worse to cry in front of than Yuki. Besides, Yuki is working at his desk, so he can pretend to ignore it if he notices.

On his right, a sharp intake of breath. 

Fingers ghost across his own, tentative, until he reaches out and clings.

Tempting as it would be to believe Yuki had been perfectly silent as he sketched on the armchair next to Tenma's, or that Tenma was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice, the truth of the matter is simpler. Having Yuki in his space is more natural than they both care to admit.

The whole time Tenma cries, clenching Yuki's hand, Yuki silently squeezes back. That idiot. He can't get any work down like that. Doesn’t he have costumes to make?

The tightness in Tenma's chest intensifies. 

How did he get this lucky? 

**─**

When Tenma opens his eyes again, Yuki is sketching in his chair with a frown. Night has long fallen--Tenma startles with a small squeak, and Yuki flinches.

“What time is--”

“Don’t you think I would have woken you up if we were running late, stupid hack? There are fifteen minutes left.”

Tenma sinks into his armchair again. “Oh. Okay.” He clears his throat, unsure how to regain his usual edge. He’s a little woozy. The nap disoriented him.

“Raw sketches going okay?” he settles for. Yuki glares at the page for a half-second before his expression smoothens like tissue flattened under one’s palm.

"I'll figure it out.” Voice clipped--not quite a warning, but a clear dismissal. Which is fine: Tenma has already figured out that to support Yuki and Kazunari as best he can, he needs to let things run their course without interfering.

Some issues you cannot face or fix in other people’s stead. 

So Tenma says, easily: "Damn right you will."

"What, because you're here to shine your wisdom upon me?" 

Tenma snorts, crosses his arms over his chest. "I mean, there's that.” Taking a backseat never means passivity when you’re the leader. Especially now that he knows the difference that simply having someone’s back can make. “But mostly, I just… know you will."

Yuki's gaze softens, and he gives Tenma a small smile. "Thanks."

At least gratefulness isn't something Yuki's stingy about when Tenma's also being upfront. That, too, is soothingly familiar. 

_(Thank you, Ali Baba.)_

"That's my line," replies Tenma, smiling in turn.

Yuki, cheeks dusted pink, turns to his notebook again. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” After a short pause, he slants Tenma a gaze. “Did you work on toning down your presence for tonight’s rehearsal? Your head is so big, it’s a wonder the audience sees us sometimes.”

“You--! Yeah, I practiced with people from other troupes while everyone else was busy! It won’t be a problem, so how about you? How’s it, properly asserting yourself as the lead?” He smirks. “Think that next time we co-lead, you’ll upstage me?”

“Yes.”

“Hah, you can _try_.”

“I look forward to seeing your face the moment you realize I have more fans than you.”

“I’m a _world-class actor_ \--” Tenma splutters, Yuki parroting the words under his breath as he does with _that_ look on his face--“Hey--it’s true, so dream on! You would be lucky to ever reach my level, you know!”

When Yuki’s gaze locks with his, not a single flicker of amusement lingers there.

“I’ve always intended on doing that, though. Keeping up with you.”

Tenma swallows with some difficulty. “W-well--”

“It’s a given. Did you think I’d let you boss me around forever? I’ll catch up sooner than you think.”

Tenma mumbles something about wannabes, heat rising to his face. The nap is definitely why he can’t find a good retort right now-- _and_ why his mouth got so dry a second ago. Terrible inventions, naps. You’ll forget your own name for a solid ten minutes afterward if you’re not careful, not to mention the lightheadedness. Is this the state Hisoka-san is in all the time? How does he even function?

“I don’t know why that even surprises you,” insists Yuki.

“It doesn’t!”

Yuki’s hum somehow conveys doubt and approval simultaneously. From that angle, Tenma cannot see what he has resumed drawing, only that his pencil takes a sharp turn.

_It shouldn’t._

Tenma’s nerves settle for the most part--an incidental, not altogether unpleasant sense of impatience remains when he looks at Yuki. He puts that aside.

His wounds thrums oddly, though, skin taut under the surge of his pulse. Warmer now. Mere discomfort, that he’ll forget the instant he steps foot into the practice room. He can picture it-- Izumi, an encouraging smile on her face, Misumi with a pirouette and maybe a gift of the triangle kind at the ready, Muku gingerly offering well-wishes, Kazunari toeing the line between showing concern and lightening the mood, and Yuki helping him cut through their unrest so practice finally starts, with a pointed glance in his direction (unnecessary reminder, really; but appreciated).

“What’s that weird look on your face?” asks Yuki. “Does it still hurt?”

“Nah.” Tenma rises to his feet, then stretches linked fingers towards the sky, palms aimed upwards. “I’m alright. I’m ready!”

**Author's Note:**

> the “oasis effect”: a particular social and ecosystemic structure that answers environmental constraints by superposing different strata of vegetation to create an artificial, irrigated, cultivated space emancipated from the desert. continuous human work and presence is a requirement to maintain such an habitat. (according to wikipedia)
> 
> did not expect my research to teach me that tenma’s character was looking for a place in _Water me!_ that couldn’t exist on its own by _definition_ , but hey.  
> so… ali baba/tenma then realized that it was impossible for him to fulfill his dream alone, and decided to stick by the people who mattered to him in order to find happiness... because they needed him like he needed them, and that would eventually trump his too-good-to-be-true delusions of self-sufficiency in seclusion… hmmm… isn’t that funny.
> 
> i have carefully considered the way tenma deals with his abuse, including how i figure it’s tied to his cultural background (one very different from mine, but i made sure to take into account what i know of the importance of family and your role within it in japanese society; i imagine it’d come into play all the more strongly with a character like tenma, and i can’t say i am able to portray that the way someone with such a background could, which i encourage everyone to keep in mind.) i think it’s best i don’t elaborate unless you have a specific point you’d like to discuss in comments, in which case, feel free! 
> 
> (btw, i will always accept constructive criticism when it comes to cultural sensitivity.)
> 
>  **edit:** there's [art for this fic](https://twitter.com/Kyuu_tan/status/1271794622247899137?s=20) now!!! and it's gorgeous!!!


End file.
